You Have One New Voicemail Message
by Liam2
Summary: Why was the TARDIS phone off the hook at the end of "Time of the Doctor"? This story proposes a reason why. One last, final farewell from Eleven and a hello from Twelve.


So, each time I've watched "Time of the Doctor" (and yes, that's been many, many times), I've always been struck by how the police box phone is off the hook before Clara enters the TARDIS. Was it simply rattled off by the events of battle? Or perhaps, just perhaps, someone made one last call.

This is only my second Doctor Who fic. Perhaps unironically, my first was published when the last Doctor regenerated. I'm also American, so bear that in mind if this doesn't quite read like a native. At any rate, I hope you all enjoy.

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You Have One New Voicemail Message

By Liam

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All in all, Clara liked to think she handled the situation with incredible grace and aplomb. Wasn't every day the bloke you fancy goes "poof", consumed by orange stardust, and changes into a completely different bloke. So...aplomb.

Then there was the crash landing. Followed swiftly by running and fighting and staving off evil aliens. And of course The Doctor had to be mostly useless and battling amnesia, right up until a good swift knock to the noggin seemed to release the memory floodgates.

"Oooh! Whack on the head, just what I needed!" The Doctor said in his new Scottish brogue. His newly substantial eyebrows furrowed. "Oy, I've said that before, haven't I?"

After that they returned to the TARDIS. The Doctor, now aware of his Scottish accent and very much enamored of it, began to belt out "The Lament of Mary, Queen of Scots". Because in his words, "When you have a voice like this, you've got to test it! Traditional Scottish fare will do!" He then shrugged, a bit of a bashful grin on his face, "And frankly, I don't think I can pull off Shirley Manson."

He stopped, only for the first time truly noticing her shell-shocked expression. "Oh," he said. "This is probably a bit awkward for you, isn't it?"

"A bit, yeah," Clara agreed.

The Doctor shuffled awkwardly, favoring first his left leg, then the right. He nervously started to slide his hands into the pockets of his, or rather, his predecessor's pants. But he apparently didn't like the feel of that, so instead clasped his hands together behind his back. But once more, he shifted weight back onto his left leg and clumsily folded his arms across his chest.

The gesture, so off-kilter and ungraceful, did nothing but remind her of The Doctor, _Her _Doctor. She had to choke back a sob.

The Doctor moved to console her, but realized the gesture might be unwelcome. So he fiddled nervously with his hands instead.

"Do you want to go home for a bit?" he tentatively asked.

Clara nodded and wiped her nose with the sleeve of her shirt in decidedly unladylike fashion. "Please?"

"Yes, of course!" The Doctor flew into action, pulling levers, pressing buttons. A flurry of activity. But then he stilled, and with wide eyes, he timidly asked, "But only for a bit, right?"

The hidden question was plain: _"Are you leaving me?"_

Clara answered the only way she could. Honestly. "I don't know."

* * *

It was night when he dropped her off. Past ten o'clock. Over six hours had passed, at least from the perspective of her worried family.

"Where have you been?" her dad asked. "We've been worried sick!"

Clara barely registered his words of worry, or her stepmother's snark. She did, however, acknowledge her gram's hug, but only barely.

"I have a headache," she declared. "Think I'm going to bed now. If you'll lock up when you go, I'll clean up in the morning."

Clara lifelessly shuffled into the bedroom, closed the door, and locked it.

* * *

Okay, perhaps her aplomb was overstated. She was kinda sorta maybe almost certainly freaking out to a disgusting degree. The Doctor, _Her _Doctor, chin-boy, he of the floppy mane and emphatic hands gestures, was...gone. And she was acting like such a _girl _about it.

She clutched his bowtie in hand, running her thumb and fingers over the material. The Doctor, The New Doctor, just quietly watched as she picked it up and departed the TARDIS with it.

Clara was well versed in Time Lord regeneration. If she concentrated, she could tap into her memories, access the recollections of her other selves, and remember. So many faces. So many lives. So many Doctors.

And was that…? Yes. She even had a recollection of this new Doctor. Of a theatre house on The Globe, an entire planet dedicated to the production of plays from all across the universe. Yes! Clara remembered. She played The Nurse in a production of Romeo and Juliet. There was a Prime Minister, an assassination attempt, and blimey, Romeo and Juliet really loses something in translation when the titles roles are played by one alien with two heads. That's what you get for casting an Aplan.

Did that still happen? Would it still happen? Time travel. It really _was _giving her a headache.

Clara brought the bowtie to her lips and gently kissed it. She whispered farewell to her Doctor. Opening the drawer on her bedside table, where she kept many of her precious items, including numerous souvenirs from her travels in time and space, she delicately dropped the bit of fabric inside and pushed the drawer closed again.

She then noticed the phone handset unit upon the table, a red number one flashing insistently. Frowning, she pressed the "Play" button.

"_You have. One. New voicemail message," _the automated female voice chirped.

"_Clara...it's me."_

She gasped and a new wave of tears threatened to spill.

"_I hope you get this message. Making long distance calls from the TARDIS tends to be a bit dodgy. Chances are I reach you at the wrong point in your timestream. And if I mistakenly dialed the wrong number...then whoever you are, ignore what I'm about to say."_

Clara snorted with incredulous laughter. She should've known he'd have one more surprise for her.

"_You know me and my gob. Once I get going, I have trouble stopping. But for once, I'm not terribly sure what to say." _There was a long pause, and Clara actually found herself dumbfounded at his timidness and loss for words. _"If you're listening to this...then it's already happened. I've changed."_

Clara clasped her hands in her lap, fingers delicately twirling her mother's ring. She stared at the answering machine with all the intensity as if The Doctor himself was standing there.

"_I'm sorry for that. I know it can't be easy. Even for Time Lords, seeing an old friend with a new face can be...jarring."_

Clara snorted. "That's a clever lie."

"_Okay, so that's a clever lie. Sorry. New body, new outfit. It's old hat to a Time Lord. Sorry, ah, I should just say what I mean to say. There's not much time left." _

He sighed deeply. Clara could imagine him leaning against the TARDIS, staring down at his shoes, scuffing the dirt, trying to find the words. This Doctor, _her _Doctor, wasn't always the best at connecting with humans. But when he tried, when he really, really tried, he made it work.

He was really, really trying.

"_Regeneration. Never know how it'll wind up. I've never been ginger before. I've a good feeling about it this time. Oh! And so you won't be caught off-guard, there is a nearly six percent chance of a gender change during any given regeneration."_

"Six percent chance of what now?" Clara asked, startled. She was momentarily overcome by an image of a female Doctor. Given her subtle romantic feelings, a sex change might have proven awkward. Or not, given a suitably aesthetically pleasing exterior.

"_I know you know this, but regeneration isn't merely a face change. It's personality, too. I might not like fish fingers and custard anymore. In fact, I probably won't like fish fingers and custard anymore. I know you might not think it, but I do realize how absurd fish fingers and custard is. Delicious, but absurd."_

The machine went silent for several long moments. Clara feared the line was disconnected. But then The Doctor spoke again, in a voice saturated with anguish. The voice of a man about to "die".

"_I don't know if my new eyes will see you the same way as these eyes do. I hope...well, like I said, it's a lottery. But just remember, always remember, that you will be the first person those eyes ever see. And that means something. And whether I turn out a whimsical romantic, or a petulant egotist, or a cranky old man, I will _need_ you, Clara. There's a reason why I don't travel alone for too long. My companions are always the best part of me. And you, Clara Oswald, my delightfully mad, beautiful, impossible girl, will always be a special part of me."_

There was no stopping the tears flowing down her cheeks, so Clara didn't even try.

"_So I hope, I really really hope, that no matter how I wind up, that you will stay. It's your decision, of course. And there's an equal likelihood my new self will embrace you with welcome arms or do everything possible to chase you away. But please, I hope that doesn't happen. I was wrong to send you away. I won't apologize for it, because I only meant to protect you. But it was wrong. And I hope my successor doesn't try to pull the same act." _There was another long pause, then, _"And if my new regeneration does happen to be a girl, I really hope you stay. I'll need someone to teach me about girl...things. Centuries of phone box travel, women truly are the one mystery I don't understand."_

Clara snorted so loudly in laughter that she doubled over in pain.

"_Clara. My impossible girl. Good night."_

There was a sharp grimace of pain and the phone dropped, clattering against the wooden exterior of the TARDIS. With trembling hand, Clara clicked off the machine and wept.

* * *

Next Wednesday. January 1st. New Year, New Doctor.

She was grading papers at her desk when she heard it. That wonderful, brilliant sound of the TARDIS materializing through her classroom window. On Wednesdays gone by, she would leap at the sound and run. Today, she calmly finished reading Mark Lincoln's absolutely rubbish essay response and wrote "Nice try, but so wrong" in red ink on top. She then carefully packed away her materials into her leather satchel and grabbed her coat before going in search of the blue box.

With a snap of her fingers, the TARDIS doors opened. A quick glance around showed that the interior hadn't changed. Good. She idly wondered if the TARDIS hadn't remained the same out of respect to her, to ease the transition.

And there, at the central console, was the new Doctor in his new clothes. Purposely looking busy flipping switches and gazing at a monitor, the machinations of a madman trying to avoid an inevitable conversation.

"How was school?" he finally asked.

"Long and boring." She tilted her chin upwards, a display of strength. "How's the new body?"

He seemed startled by the abrupt and blatant reference to his regeneration. "A bit stiffer than the last one, but it'll do." His mouth puckered, like he swallowed something sour. "Still not ginger."

"Well, better luck next time."

The Doctor stared at her for a moment, again startled by her words. Then his head tipped back and he laughed.

"Fancy a trip?" he asked.

"Wouldn't turn one down."

He exhaled a deep, relieved breath. "I'm thinking Vegas. We never did get around to it after our detour on the submarine."

"Rat Pack era, if you please. I'm not sure I can handle a Vegas where Britney is a lounge act."

The Doctor laughed again in that Scottish lilt of his. Clara found she didn't mind it.

"Las Vegas, 1964, coming right up!" The Doctor was sudden flurry of motion. In purposely casually off-handed manner, he asked, "I take it you got my voicemail?"

This time Clara startled a bit. She was vaguely surprised he remembered calling. He did have a lot going on at the time. "I did."

He simply nodded, said "Good", and continued tinkering with the TARDIS. But Clara wasn't quite done.

"Nearly six percent chance of gender change, eh?" she asked, voice laced with humor.

The Doctor groaned. "Let me tell you, it's a fact that can make Time Lord family reunions interesting." Clara laughed. "I must confess, I'm rather pleased to not be a girl."

"Oh?"

"Indeed." The Doctor's lip curled in a smirk. "Can you imagine me in one of your skirts? I haven't the legs for it."

Even the TARDIS joined in, her groans and clinks and clatters sounding like laughter alongside Clara's cackling and The Doctor's deep guffaws. Perhaps things weren't the same, Clara thought, but that didn't mean they weren't still special.

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THE END

Please, I'd love to hear comments and reviews. I hope you all enjoyed!


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